“It isn't what you think!”
“Darling, if you know what I think, you're far less innocent than I imagined.”
“Well, it certainly isn't whatever you meant when you said—Stop laughing, I'll tell you!”
He might have responded, but it was difficult to tell under the force of his laughter.
“All I meant,” she grumbled, “was that you seem rather enamored of me when we are…you know…and I thought if I could keep you here…”
He held out his wrists, “I am yours to bind, my lady.”
“I was speaking metaphorically!”
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “More's the pity.”
She tried not to smile. “I should disapprove of such talk…”
“But I'm so endearing,” he said with a rakish grin.
“Charles?”
“Yes?”
“My stomach…”
His face grew serious. “Yes?”
“It feels quite normal.”
He spoke carefully. “And by that you mean…?”
Her smile was slow and seductive. “Exactly what you think. And this time, I do know what you're thinking. I'm far less innocent than I was a week ago.”
He leaned down and captured her mouth in a long and melting kiss. “Thank God for that.”
Ellie wrapped her arms around him, reveling in the heat of his body. “I missed you last night,” she murmured.
“You weren't even conscious last night,” he returned, pulling out of her embrace. “And you're going to have to miss me for a little bit longer.”
“What?”
He wiggled away and stood on the floor. “Do you really think I'm such a cur that I would take advantage of you in this condition?
“Actually, I'd been hoping to take advantage of you,” she muttered.
“You were afraid I would fail as a husband because I wouldn't be able to control my baser instincts,” he explained. “If this isn't an excellent demonstration of control, I don't know what is.”
“You don't have to control them with me.”
“Nonetheless, you shall have to wait a few days.”
“You are a beast.”
“You are merely frustrated, Ellie. You'll get over it.”
Ellie crossed her arms and glared at him. “Send Judith back in. I think I preferred her company.”
He chuckled. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now get out before I throw something at you.”
Chapter 21
Charles's temporary vow of abstinence was just that—temporary—and soon he and Ellie were back to their newlywed habits.
They still had their independent pursuits, however, and one day while Ellie was poring over the financial pages, Charles decided to ride the perimeter of his property. The weather was unseasonably warm, and he wanted to take advantage of the sunshine before it turned too cold to take long rides. He would have liked to bring Ellie along with him, but she didn't know how to ride and adamantly refused to begin lessons until spring, when the weather would be warmer and the ground not quite so hard.
“I shall surely be landing on my behind quite frequently,” she had explained, “so I might as well do so when the ground is nice and soft.”
Charles chuckled at the memory as he mounted his gelding and took off at an easy trot. His wife certainly had a practical streak. It was one of the things he loved best about her.
Thoughts of Ellie seemed to occupy a great deal of his mind these days. It was getting embarrassing how often people snapped their fingers in front of his face because he was staring off into space. He couldn't help it. All he had to do was think of her and he found himself wearing a silly smile and sighing like an idiot.
He wondered if the bliss of true love ever wore off. He hoped not.
By the time Charles reached the end of the drive, he'd remembered three funny comments Ellie had said the night before, pictured the way she looked when she was giving Judith a hug, and fantasized about what he was going to do with her that night in bed.
That particular daydream made him feel quite warm and left his reflexes a bit dulled, which was probably why he didn't immediately notice when his horse started to grow agitated.
“Whoa there, Whistler. Easy now, boy,” he said, pulling back on the reins. But the gelding paid him no attention, snorting in obvious fear and pain.
“What the hell?” Charles leaned down and tried to calm Whistler by patting his long neck. This didn't seem to help, and soon Charles was fighting just to keep his seat.
“Whistler! Whistler! Calm down, boy.”
No effect. One minute Charles had the reins in his hands and the next he was flying through the air, with barely time to say, “Damn,” before he landed, solid on his right ankle—the same one he'd injured the day he met Ellie.
And then he said, “Damn!” many many more times. The expletive didn't do much to ease the pain shooting up his leg, and it didn't do much to ease his temper, but he yelled it all the same.
Whistler let out one last whinny and took off toward Wycombe Abbey at a full gallop, leaving Charles stranded with an ankle he feared would not be able to bear any weight.
Muttering an astonishing variety of curses, he rose to his hands and knees and crawled to a nearby tree stump, where he sat and swore some more. He touched his ankle through his boot and wasn't surprised to find it swelling at a rapid rate. He tried to pull the boot off, but the pain was too much. Damn. They were going to have to cut through the leather. Another perfectly good pair of boots ruined.
Charles groaned, grabbed a nearby stick that could double as a cane, and started to hobble home. His ankle was killing him, but he didn't see what else he could do. He'd told Ellie that he would be gone for several hours, so no one would notice his absence for some time.
His progress was slow and not particularly steady, but eventually he made his way back to the end of the drive, and Wycombe Abbey came into view.
Thankfully, so did Ellie, who was running toward him at breakneck speed as she shouted his name.
“Charles!” she yelled. “Thank goodness! What happened? Whistler came back, and he's bleeding, and…” As soon as she reached him, she stopped talking to catch her breath.
“Whistler's bleeding?” he asked.
“Yes. The groom isn't sure why, and I didn't know what happened to you, and—What did happen to you?”
“Whistler threw me. I sprained my ankle.”
“Again?”
He looked down ruefully at his right foot. “Same one. I imagine it was still weak from the previous injury.”
“Does it hurt?”
He looked at her as if she were a halfwit. “Like the devil.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose it must. Here, lean on me, and we'll walk back to the Abbey together.”
Charles draped his arm over her shoulder and used her weight to support him as they limped home. “Why do I feel like I'm reliving a bad dream?” he wondered aloud.
Ellie chuckled. “We have done this before, haven't we? But if you recall, we wouldn't have met if you hadn't sprained your ankle last time. At the very least, you wouldn't have asked me to marry you if I hadn't tended to your injury with such tender and loving care.”
“Tender and loving care!” he said with a snort. “You were practically breathing fire.”
“Yes, well, we couldn't have the patient feeling sorry for himself, could we?”
As they neared the house, Charles said, “I want to go to the stables and see why Whistler was bleeding.”
“You can go after I tend to your foot.”
“Tend to it in the stables. I'm sure someone there has a knife you can use to cut the boot off.”
Ellie ground to a halt. “I insist that you go back to the house where I can do a proper check for broken bones.”
“I haven't broken any bones.”
“How do you know?”
“I've broken them before. I know what it feels like.”He tugged at her, trying to sh
ift their direction toward the stables, but the woman had positively grown roots. “Ellie,” he ground out. “Let's go.”
“You'll find I am more stubborn than you think.”
“If that is true, I'm in big trouble,” he muttered.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I'd say you're as stubborn as a damned mule, woman, except that might insult the mule.”
Ellie lurched back, dropping him. “Well, I never!”
“Oh, for the love of God,” he grumbled, rubbing his elbow where he banged it when he fell. “Will you help me get to the bloody stables or do I have to limp there myself?”
She answered by turning on her heel and marching back to Wycombe Abbey.
“Damned stubborn mule of a woman,” he muttered. Thankfully, he still had his walking stick, and a few minutes later he collapsed onto a bench in the stables.
“Someone get me a knife!” he shouted. If he didn't get this damned boot off, his foot was going to explode.
A groom named James rushed to his side and handed him a knife. “Whistler's bleeding, my lord,” James said.
“I heard.” Charles winced as he started sawing at the leather of his second-best pair of boots. His best had already been demolished by Ellie. “What happened?'
Thomas Leavey, who ran the stables and was, in Charles's opinion, one of the finest judges of horseflesh in the country, stepped forward and said, “We found this under the saddle.”
Charles sucked in his breath. Leavey held in his hand a bent, rusty nail. It wasn't very long, but Charles's weight on the saddle would have been enough to drive it into Whistler's back, causing the horse unspeakable agony.
“Who saddled my horse?” Charles demanded.
“I did,” Leavey said.
Charles stared at his trusted stablemaster. He knew that Leavey would never do anything to hurt a horse, much less a human. “Have you any idea how this might have happened?”
“I left Whistler alone in his stall for a minute or two before you came for him. My only guess is that someone sneaked in and put the nail under the saddle.”
“Who the hell would do something like this?” Charles demanded.
No one offered an answer.
“It wasn't an accident,” Leavey finally said. “That much I know. Something like this doesn't happen by accident.”
Charles knew he spoke the truth. Someone had deliberately tried to injure him. His blood ran cold. Someone had probably wanted him dead.
As he was digesting that chilling fact, Ellie stomped into the stables. “I am far too nice a person,” she announced to the room at large.
The stablehands just stared at her, clearly not sure how to reply.
She marched over to Charles. “Give me the knife,” she said. “I'll take care of your boot.”
He handed it to her without a word, still in shock over the recent attempt against his life.
She sat inelegantly at his feet and began to saw away at his boot. “Next time you compare me to a mule,” she hissed, “you had better find the mule wanting.”
Charles couldn't even manage a chuckle.
“Why was Whistler bleeding?” she asked.
He exchanged a glance with Leavey and James. He didn't want her to know about the attempt on his life. He would have to have a talk with the two men as soon as she left, for if they uttered one word about this to anyone, Ellie would learn the truth before nightfall. Gossip could be rampant on country estates. “It was just a scratch,” he told her. “He must have stuck himself on a branch while running home.”
“I don't know very much about horses,” she said, not looking up from her work on his boot, “but that sounds strange to me. Whistler would have had to hit that branch very hard to draw blood.”
“Er, I suppose he would.”
She eased the mutilated boot from his foot. “I can't imagine how he would have hit a branch while running along the main road or the drive. Both are kept very clear.”
She had him there. Charles looked over to Leavey for help, but the stablemaster just shrugged.
Ellie touched his ankle gently, checking the swelling. “Furthermore,” she said, “it makes more sense that he sustained the injury before he threw you. After all, there must be some explanation for his distress. He's never thrown you before, has he?”
“No,” Charles said.
She turned the ankle slightly. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
“Does this?” She turned it in a different direction.
“No.”
“Good.” She dropped his foot and looked up at him. “I think you're lying to me.”
Charles noticed that Leavey and James had conveniently disappeared.
“What really happened to Whistler, Charles?” When he didn't reply fast enough, she leveled a hard stare in his direction and added, “And remember that I'm as stubborn as a mule, so don't think you're going anywhere without telling me the truth.”
Charles let out a weary sigh. There were disadvantages to having such an intelligent wife. There was no way Ellie wasn't going to ferret out the entire story on her own. Better she hear it from him. He told her the truth, finishing up by showing her the rusty nail Leavey had left sitting beside him on the bench.
Ellie twisted her gloves in her hands. She'd taken them off before tending to his ankle, and now they were a wrinkled mess. After a long pause, she said, “What did you hope to gain by hiding this from me?”
“I just wanted to protect you.”
“From the truth?” Her voice was sharp.
“I didn't want you to worry.”
“You didn't want me to worry.”
He thought she sounded unnaturally calm.
“You didn't want me to worry?”
Now he thought she sounded a little bit shrill.
“You didn't want me to WORRY?”
By now Charles figured that half the staff of Wycombe Abbey could hear her yelling. “Ellie, my love—”
“Don't try to weasel out of this by calling me ‘your love,’” she stormed. “How would you feel if I lied to you about something this important? Well? How would you feel?”
He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she yelled, “I'll tell you how you would feel. You would be so angry you would want to strangle me.”
Charles thought she was most probably right, but didn't see the point in admitting it just then.
Ellie took a deep breath and pressed her fingers against her temples. “All right, all right, Ellie,” she said to herself, “calm down. Killing him now would be counterproductive.” She looked back up. “I am going to control my temper because this is such a dire and serious situation. But don't think I'm not furious with you.”
“There is little danger of that.”
“Don't be glib,” she bit out. “Someone has tried to kill you, and if we don't figure out who and why, you might end up dead.”
“I know,” he said softly, “and that is why I am going to hire extra protection for you, Helen, and the girls.”
“We are not the ones in need of extra protection! You are the one whose life is in danger.”
“I will be extra careful as well,” he assured her.
“Dear God, this is terrible. Why would someone want to kill you?”
“I don't know, Ellie.”
She rubbed her temples again. “My head aches.”
He took her hand. “Why don't we go back to the house?”
“Not now. I'm thinking,” she said, shaking his hand off.
Charles gave up trying to follow the zigzags of her thought process.
She whipped her head around to face him. “I'll bet you were meant to be poisoned.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The custard. It wasn't bad milk. Monsieur Belmont has been in a rage for days because we even suggested it. Someone poisoned the custard, but it was meant for you, not me. Everyone knows it is your favorite dessert. You told me so yourself.”
&nbs
p; He stared at her, dumbfounded. “You're right.”
“Yes, and I wouldn't be surprised if the carriage accident when we were courting was also…Charles? Charles?” Ellie swallowed. “You look quite ill.”
Charles felt a rage sweep through him unlike anything he had ever known. That someone had tried to kill him was bad enough. That Ellie had gotten caught in the proverbial line of fire made him want to eviscerate someone.
He stared at her, as if somehow trying to imprint her features on his brain. “I won't let anything happen to you, Ellie,” he vowed.
“Will you forget about me for a moment! You're the one someone is trying to kill.”
Overcome with emotion, he stood and pulled her to him, completely forgetting about his injured ankle. “Ellie, I—Aaargh!”
“Charles?”
“Damned ankle,” he swore. “I can't even kiss you properly. I—Don't laugh.”
She shook her head. “Don't tell me not to laugh. Someone is trying to kill you. I need all the laughter I can get.”
“I suppose if you put it that way…”
She held out her hand. “Let's go back to the house. You'll need something cold on your ankle to bring the swelling down.”
“How the hell am I supposed to find the killer when I can't even walk?”
Ellie leaned up and kissed his cheek. She knew how awful it was to feel helpless, but all she could do was comfort him. “You can't,” she said simply. “You'll have to wait a few days. In the meantime we will concentrate on keeping everyone safe.”
“I am not going to stand idly by while—”
“You won't be idle,” she assured him. “We must see to our protection in any case. By the time our defenses are in place, your ankle will be well enough healed. And then you can”—she couldn't suppress a shudder—”seek out your enemy. Although I wish you would just wait for him to come to you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She prodded him until he started moving slowly back to the house. “We haven't the faintest idea who he is. Best to stay at Wycombe Abbey where you will be safe until he reveals himself.”
“You were at the Abbey when you were poisoned,” he reminded her.
“I know. We shall have to increase our security. But it is certainly safer here than anywhere else.”